


Liberté

by kheradihr



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Suicide, post MGS4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kheradihr/pseuds/kheradihr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of MGS4, Snake once again finds himself in a cold place utterly alone.</p><p>In the end he's alone and this time, it's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberté

In the end it was as he expected. He was a Snake, a solitary soldier. Born alone, fought alone, would die alone. Even in his final fight against Liquid he had been alone. The army that somehow rallied around him had their own battles to fight, each one changing them and crystallizing something in them. He didn’t really care what it was. Why should he; he had no place in their lives. Meryl finally found what she couldn’t in him. Otacon – no, Hal, now that he lost much of what had him follow Snake initially – learned to stand straight on his own, choosing to focus on what was rather than what couldn’t be. Even little Sunny didn’t flinch when she breathed.

He refused to think about Jack. He did too much damage to the boy without knowing he existed, let alone when they operated together. Perhaps now one of them could have what they wanted.

He took a deep breath and held it as his gaze lengthened over the tundra. Even in the increasingly warmer summers this was no place for a Snake. That was why he liked Alaska so much. There it was nothing but snow and his dogs, his ramshackle pack of mismatched half-feral beasts. That reminded him of another ramshackle group he let of just a few months ago. For some reason his beard twitched to one side as he huffed out the held breath.

A fox called out from the top of a moss-covered berm. He met its eyes and it yipped. Four small heads popped up over the berm and pounced their mother. He turned away from the family antics and started walking.

He liked the tundra. No one followed him. No one parroted on about his health. No one shot him pitying looks when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He was a literal born-and-bred soldier; he was always aware. The day he wasn’t would be twenty-four hours after his death. The tundra gave him the silence and solitude he craved since his conception, however dubious it was.

“This is it,” slipped gruff from his mouth only to be caught by the wind and scattered in all directions.

This _was_ it. He had packed up and left without telling Hal. Sunny knew because she was up late again working on whatever piece of code that had her focus and had been getting a glass of water when he stumbled across her in the kitchen. She didn’t shift her gaze from his backpack and parka for a long minute before throwing her arms around his waist awkwardly. She had mumbled something like “thanks” or “I’ll get better at eggs” before letting him go suddenly and rushing back to her room. He knew by the fact that there wasn’t a chopper in the air that she hadn’t told anyone what she knew. No one was around to interfere. For the first to me in his life he was well and truly isolated. It felt good.

His Operator sat in his coat pocket at all times, both protection and a promise. He was far enough north that polar bears could discover him in their forced southernmost wanderings. And if at any moment he wanted to repeat the attempt at the gravestone, he could. This time without interruptions.

A gust of cold wind slammed against him, forcing him to squat down behind another berm quickly lest he get blown away. His knees screamed at him, shoulder that got torn up by shrapnel agreeing with his knees wholeheartedly. Fuck his aging. Fuck his body. He was done with it. Done with it _all_.

The thought stilled him. Was this how Big Boss felt when he broke the leash? Was he just fed up with it all and wanted to be free? If he didn’t want to fight needless wars, then why did he keep fighting a war that ended in his death by Snake’s own hand? The answer slammed into him just as hard as the wind. Because he didn’t know anything else. As Big Boss’ supposed perfect copy he was supposed to do the same, wasn’t he?

Fuck that. He wouldn’t end up a torso locked in a plastic bag, fought over like some mystical artifact. He would take his freedom. Being alone meant there was no one to weigh him down, impede his freedom. He was a Snake and a Foxhound. He was sneaky and wily enough to avoid anyone. He did his damned duty too many times over to count. If anyone did find him he could always twist the shock knife between their ribs like Liquid had and tell them it was his last wish as a dying man. They reminded him of that fact often enough. Ironic, since he was always assigned missions where his life was on the line.

He was free, well and truly free to do anything he wanted. He could follow in Big Boss’ footsteps, create another Outer Heaven and – if history truly repeated itself – die by his genetic clone’s hand. Or. He blinked the wind-induced tears from his eyes. Or he could go find a bar on a beach in Mexico and have a beer and smoke.

A beer and smoke – _whisky_ – sounded real good about now.

Standing against the wind, Snake began the long walk back to his campsite to pack and begin the even longer journey to the halfway point of the continents. Along the way he would acquire more gear and remember how to speak Spanish. It didn’t matter how long it took; he was finally free. No more nation-ending deadlines.

Feeling lighter and younger than he had in decades he picked up his pace.


End file.
